


I'll Be Your Inkwell (if you'll be my pen)

by KatiMae



Series: Tumblr Prompts [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Cute, Fake AH Crew, Fluffy Ending, M/M, detective miles, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 03:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10324841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiMae/pseuds/KatiMae
Summary: For a most wonderful prompt via themadkingofplants on tumblr.Detective Miles Luna was a good person, honestly.  He just happens to have terrible taste in hobbies.





	

One:  
They each had a certain unique style to them, a calling card. Like the ridiculous symbol they’d joked about leaving at all of their crimes. Detective Miles Luna had been studying the gang for months now, following their rise, and the various scuffles with Fake Haus. It had gotten to the point that when the chief suspected something was the Fakes’ doing, Luna was called in to be sure. He could even tell which ones had been responsible for a certain part of the heist.  
The wreckage Vav left in his wake, ruined bikes and totaled cars included, the calculated and precise kills of the Vagabond, Beardovski’s amazing maneuvers in the helicopter or car that traffic cams had managed to pick up. It was, on the rare occasion he was honest with himself, terrifyingly beautiful. Not that the crimes scared him, no. That was the problem. He wasn’t afraid of what they could do, he admired it.  
Miles had somehow got it into his head that the things these men were doing- bombing squad cars, stealing money, killing people- that it was good. More than good, that it was praiseworthy. He’d never admit it, he’d lose his job. It was a wonder no one had noticed the tiny bits of faulty evidence and abandoned cases that had gone missing.  
It was an accident, the first time at least. He’d felt sick when he saw another detective tossing the files out. To anyone else, he supposed, they looked like a series of unrelated hits by some small gangs, but Miles knew better.  
He knew that no one but Vav could’ve- or for that matter, would have- stalled the cameras in one of the most secure museums in California just to steal a painting and replace it with a crudely drawn dick.  
He recognised the work of the Fake’s Brownman, no one else could get such a clean shot from that angle- well, except for maybe the new member they’d replaced the sniper with when he slipped away, never to be seen again. Miles was angry, at first, when he noticed the lack of the old sniper, but the new guy had his own unique style that Miles somehow adored, so he got used to the change.  
Miles also realized the flawless work of the Vagabond, the gruesome marks of where a practised hand had cut the arteries of a man that had been labeled as the victim of a drug deal gone wrong. Most of the LSPD were convinced that Vagabond was nothing but a crazed lunatic with a capacity to handle a weapon, but Miles knew better. He could see the strokes of a genius in the Vagabond’s work.  
And that’s not even going into his real fascination with the group, Mogar. Miles, when he was younger, had been afraid of fire. Of course he was, any reasonable person would be terrified of something so unruly, so completely devastating. And Miles kept in being afraid of fire, until he moved to Los Santos.  
First week in the city and fresh out of the academy to work in one of the largest crime capitals in the United States. He knew- and how could he not with the number of times it was told to him- that he was crazy for starting up here. Los Santos, California in general, was nothing like Texas. And looking back on it now, that might’ve been what originally drew him to the city… but he definitely stayed because of the fire.  
Second week in the LSPD and Officer Miles Luna witnessed the first heist of a new start-up crew, the Fakes. Their leader was supposedly Ramsey, who’d been classified as one of the Cockbites but apparently left to form his own empire. Miles wasn’t even on patrol when it happened. Just off duty from a hellish third shift and regretting his forgotten bag of civilian clothes. He walked out of the station and immediately hit the deck at the loud, ringing boom of an explosion. He pointed his gun at the van as it drove past, locked eyes with the passenger. He had the shot.  
But then the curly-haired devil grinned and Miles froze. He finally wrapped his head around what had happened after the van was disappearing into a turn, weaving into traffic. He was left with heat in his cheeks, and some beating down on his skin from the nearby fires of the explosion. He watched the flames while his fellow officers scrambled to clean up the mess the crew had left behind in the city.  
Fire had never seemed so beautiful to him before.  
So he’d kept the files. Hidden them inside an old box in his room, under his bed. After all, he could be absolutely enamoured with a gang if he wanted, but he still had his morals.

Two:  
The first time Miles actually met Mogar, Shawcross- his partner on patrol- had the gangster pressed to the hood of their squad car. Officer Luna was furiously blushing and trying not to hesitate while he extinguished the small fire they’d seen the boy set. They had no idea who he was, but Miles was sure that the auburn curls and smug grin were the same.  
Everything was perfectly fine until they got him to the station. Granted, Miles had been nervous the entire car ride. No one smiles that much right after being picked up by the cops for arson. Besides, every time he glanced at the rearview mirror whiskey-brown eyes burned into him from the back seat and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  
The ID he’s carrying says he’s only seventeen, but Miles is willing to bet it’s a fake. Shawcross decides to let him off with a fine to his parents and a stern lecture, so while Kerry is talking to the man in dad jeans out front about cries for help, Miles is in the interrogation room with who he is convinced is the same man from the heist.  
“So, you here to tell me I should set a better example for my peers?” The remark is sneered out in a way that is half rude and half amused. Miles is so very sure that this is all a joke to the kid. “Something about the youth being the future?”  
“Not exactly.” Miles tries to think of a way to let on that he knows who the ‘kid’ really is, but comes up blank. He decides on a warning instead. “Y’know, it’s surprisingly easy to determine the source of a fire these days. Make sure you don’t get too brave.”  
They share what Miles hopes is a meaningful look. He’s only barely twenty-two, if this guy really is only seventeen, and already running with a major player, it's the least he can do to warn him. The kid grins again, looks like he’s about to say something, but the moment is broken when Kerry returns. Dad-jeans makes a big show of being disappointed, but Miles swears he can see the two share a small nod and smile before they’re out the door.  
He watches the leave, and finds himself frozen again when the kid turns around and winks at him before practically skipping out the door. That was really when it all started.

The second time Officer Miles Luna met Mogar it was during a bank robbery. There were no civilians left to get caught in the crossfire, the LSPD had the Maze Bank surrounded, and Miles was unlucky enough to be right up front. The back of the building burst outward into flames and debris and nearly all of the other officers had headed to meet the flames. Miles lagged behind, refusing to let himself be tricked again.  
He was rewarded with a bullet in the front of his vest, knocking the air violently out of his lungs. He fell to his knees, half crouched and half leaned against the passenger seat of his squad car, hoping that the open door would protect his body from more damage.  
He recovered quickly, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain in his chest once he regained his breath. He ducked out of and into cover, moving his way up to the side of the bank, crouching in an alcove next to the stairs in hopes of catching them by surprise. He rose to peek out and find a shot on someone, but all he got was a flash of gaudy pink in peripheral vision and a narrowly missed shot to the head.  
Great, now he was pinned down. He tried moving again, but another shot rang out and he was left with no escape but to turn back the way he came, putting him directly in the line of fire for the rest of the criminals. Fuck. He’s dead. That’s it, this is how he dies.  
Miles takes a moment to contemplate the pros and cons of running for it. Eventually the alternative of waiting for death like a frightened child has him inching towards his exit.  
“Okay Miles, this is it, this’ll be the day, you can do it, just run.” He makes it to cover with a well-placed battle roll- thank god Kerry convinced him those were important to police conduct. He spotts Gibson at cover behind the other’s car, and nods to his comrade before he makes his next move.  
This time he is not as successful, and halfway to the nearest car something rips through his arm and he tumbles. His head slams into the concrete under his feet and a soaking heat spreads from the deep- he thinks- graze on his arm. He manages to get off a few shots from next to the squad car, but he doubts that they hit.  
The world is spinning rapidly around him, and dark spots are dancing around his targets when he aims. Miles can feel something sticky and liquid running down his face and he finds himself blinking red out of his eye. God, his head hurts.  
He empties his clip, manages to fumble another into his handgun somehow, and keeps firing. He thinks he gets a lucky shot off when someone in leather-and is that a goddamn skull mask, seriously?- but he’s not sure. He pushes himself into a stand to try for a better vantage point, but all he manages to see is reddish curls and a wide grin before the spots of dark completely blot out his vision.  
He wakes up in the hospital with a severe concussion and a bruised rib. Kerry tells him that Blaine saw the whole thing, Miles was able to hit the Vagabond, and they’ve both been guaranteed a promotion. Once he’s out of the hospital, Miles spends his time off on a research-bender.

Three:  
The third time Detective Miles Luna meets Mogar, he actually meets Michael. Gibson had convinced him to come out to some bar on the bad- well, worse- side of town, and had then promptly left him to got dance. Miles, however, was still more focused on the Fakes.  
He knew it was unhealthy, borderline obsessive if he was being honest, but he couldn’t help it. They were the fastest-rising criminal kingpin on the scene, Miles had even seen evidence of their remaining ties to the Cockbites, Ramsey’s old crew. Sure, they could just as well be a side effect of sentiment and withstanding friendship between the two bosses, but Miles looked at the connections and saw a steadily growing empire headed expertly.  
It wasn’t his fault they took p so much of his limited attention span, they were just interesting. He’d just lost himself in another string of thought regarding the empire-building theory when copper curls bounces into his view. Mogar.  
“Goddamnit.” Miles moves towards the dance floor, readying himself to grab Blaine and leave. This fire-starter was the last thing he needed on a Saturday. Instead of finding Blaine, Miles ends up stuck next to a grumpy-looking gangster who is very adamantly trying to convince the bartender that ‘Yes, this is my fucking id, you piece of shit, I’m really twenty-five, why the fuck are you giving me a hard time about this’.  
His accent is much more Jersey than last time, and Miles hazards to guess that this is because last time, Mogar was trying to sound like a seventeen year old kid. Miles likes this honorary-sailor version better. (Miles has also probably had way too much to drink, and that is impairing his judgement and making a vicious gangster look way too attractive to be possible. It’s definitely the booze talking.)  
Miles has just thoroughly convinced himself of this when Mogar finally gets his own drink, and abruptly turned to the detective next to him. Mogar doesn’t seem at all surprised to see Miles, and it takes a minute for him to remember why that would be a bad thing.  
“Never thought I’d see LSPD’s finest in a place like this.” The comment doesn’t register for a minute, but the burning eyes do: amber in the dim light of the bar and piercing in a way that Miles can’t bring himself to mind.  
“Good thing I’m just second-rate then, huh.” Self-deprecating humor has always been a sort of fall back for him, admittedly. “What’re you up to, should I got find an extinguisher?” he’s surprised when it brings out a small chuckle, stareing with raised eyebrows.  
“Nah man, I’m just here for the bevs.” Miles narrows his eyes, trying to find the lie, but he’s not quite as adept at it with Mogar, apparently. Or while drunk.  
“Well, me too I guess. Truce?” He watches the freckles shift while the man smiles, heat rising to his face. That seems to have become a habit around Mogar. The uncontrollable blushing.  
“I guess, yeah. Sure.” They shake on it, jokingly, and Miles only panics mildly about whether or not the demolitionist was here to kill him for getting too much intel on his crew.  
Miles doesn’t remember exactly where their conversation went after that, but somehow by the time Blaine came to find him they had each other’s names, and Michael had his phone number, and they both had too many empty glasses on the bar.  
They’d gravitated closer over the hours and when Blaine tapped his shoulder, Michael took his distraction to plant a kiss on his lips and then disappear into the smoky bar with that same ringing laugh.

Four:  
The fourth time Miles met Michael met happened after a month or two (47 days exactly, but who’s counting? Not Miles Luna, that’s for sure.) It hadn’t exactly been an accident, but it wasn’t planned either. Michael just seemed to be able to find Miles. He had a sneaking suspicion that Vav was somehow responsible.  
Michael was at his apartment when he got home from Kerry’s. Correction: Michael was bleeding on Mile’s kitchen counter when the detective got home to his shitty apartment. Jesus christ, he was going to lose his job, and then be charged with harboring a fugitive. He felt like screaming.  
“Uh,” said fugitive had finally noticed his presence, wincing and holding his side. “Hi Miles. Couldn’t make it to the safe house-” his speech is slurred slightly. Drunk?  
“Jesus christ Michael, sit down before you keel over.” He lands heavily in a chair and Miles rushes to bring the med kit from his bathroom. “Why on earth would you check the kitchen first.” A shrug, another wince, and a small hiss of pain are his only answer.  
Miles eases Michael out of his shirt and does his best not to make a face at the wound. At least he didn’t have to dig out a bullet, from the looks of it. He very gingerly cleans and smooths butterfly-bandaids over the gash.  
“Thanks doc.” Miles scoffs, continuing to wipe the drops of blood off his counter. “Do you think I could stay-”  
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere with that cut. How the hell did you even get that Michael?” Aspirin clatters out of the bottle and he sets a few tablets in front of Michael with a water. “Drink, then explain.”  
“Wasn’t even anything too illegal. Some asshole just got mad ‘cause he thought I was hitting on his girl.” Miles ignores the tiny pang in his chest in favor of packing up the supplies.  
“Were you?”  
“No!” Michael glares at him. “I wasn’t hitting on her. I’ve already got someone.” It's harder to ignore this time.  
“And you couldn’t got bleed on their kitchen counter?” Miles snaps, turning back to glare at Michael. The fucker is smiling.  
“I did.” Michael looks so damn proud of himself. Miles, meanwhile, was near an aneurysm, his mind overworking itself to try and comprehend what had just happened.  
“You… Michael?” Miles watches the older man’s grin grow and blinks, dumbfounded and cheeks blazing heat. “You, sir, are drunk.”  
“No, I’m barely tipsy Miles.” Michael stands, a careful hand at his side, and starts over towards Miles. Before long Michael has the detective backed up against his counter top, faces close. “Miles, I’ve got you, don’t I?”  
“Yeah,” Miles can feel Michael’s hot breath against his lips. “Yeah, you got me.”  
And the kiss was a match to the gasoline tension that had been building between them for the past few months.  
Miles doesn’t think he’s ever found fire so beautiful before.

Five:  
The fifth time Miles meets Michael, he’s just made the final decision. His passenger seat has files for Ramsey- Geoff, now- and a fluttering heart in his chest. This was fine. The chief has been corrupt and trafficking since Miles joined the LSPD. Really, he was doing them a favor.  
He was definitely doing himself a favor, that man is a disgrace to the city. Jeremy carries the files up to the penthouse with a steady hand and a confident stride, but falters at the door. A small, irrational part of him is worried. Of course, he knows that Michael would never simply dump him after getting intel. He was, however, worried about meeting more of the crew than just Geoff.  
That had been a rocky start, Geoff walking in on the two of them in bed and immediately yelling about locks and doors and ‘jesus my eyes’. Thankfully, he was meeting the actual crew in a much better position, but still.  
He’s a cop- a detective- and they’re a gang of criminals. That’s like some shitty Romeo and Juliet story waiting to happen. He opened the door expecting guns to be pointed at him, and instead… They’re playing video games.  
He’s not really sure what else we should have expected from Michael’s friends, honestly.

+One:  
Michael Jones met Miles Luna for the last time when he was twenty eight. They had been together for over three years now, and Miles wanted to celebrate.  
Geoff- for whatever reason- forced Michael into one of his nicest shirts (which is saying something for Michael). Gavin had been acting weird all morning, grinning like an idiot whenever he thought Michael wasn’t looking and chattering excitedly with Jack, who just kept smiling and patting Michael on the back.  
Thank god at least Ryan was acting somewhat normal. Jeremy was god-knows-where, although Michael had a sneaking suspicion the kid was helping Michael’s boyfriend plan something. Based solely on the phone call he’d heard earlier.  
It was getting ridiculous, how nervous he was getting, but Miles was planning something, and that could be really great or really terrible. Regardless of his misgivings, Michael headed off to the restaurant. As soon as he got there he saw Miles, all dressed up and with a new hair cut.  
Michael continues to be suspicious until dessert, when Miles suddenly stands.  
“Michael, I really love you,” Michael feels his heart jump: this is it, Miles was breaking up with him. “And you make me so fucking happy, like, I’ve never had a better place than I do with you, and I never want to have anyone but you.” Okay, that’s a bit odd for a break up?  
And then Miles gets down on one knee, and pulls out a dark ring from his pocket.  
“Michael, will you marry me?”


End file.
